With Great Science comes a Great mess
by Carbon Balisong
Summary: "Sir Starchy, don't drink detergent- it'll make you grow tentacles!" Chell wasn't a scientist. She wasn't even a full time employee. Before the takeover she was one of Aperture's more tenacious janitors. Join Chell and Sir Starchy- I mean, Wheatley as they clean their way through the labs of Aperture- and maybe become partners for life in the process. *DEAD FIC*
1. First Day on the Job

(Oh wow, it's been a really really long time since I last posted. Sorry about that. Here's a short first chapter as an example of what this series is going to be like. I'll try to set up a schedule so that there will be a new chapter every week or so, but until then, I hope you enjoy this short thing over here. Critiques are very much appreciated.)

* * *

And so today was the day Chell started her new job as janitor at famous Science-making, test-subject-harming company, Aperture Science. She swung the lightweight mop in her hand with gusto as she swaggered down the corridor to the janitor's closet. The elevator ride down there had been stuffy and claustrophobic, but she knew it would all be worth it to pay for her college fees.

"Why don't you just be a waitress, or a librarian or heck- you could flip burgers!" Her friend had told her, but she would have none of that! Chell wanted adventure, she wanted excitement, she wanted to dance around and splatter water all over the floor! (In truth, Aperture just paid more. And with a little anxiety weighing her down, she began to wonder why.)

When she finally arrived at the janitor's closet, Chell jammed the key in, turned it around, feeling a jump in her heart as she heard the click that would officially begin her day at work.

Her eyes widened at the glorious sight before her. Spare mops of all shapes and sizes! Bottles of a glowing green substance labeled "DEETERGEHNT"! As she was immersed in this new world of cleaning supplies, she heard a small voice behind her. "Um, hello? Ca-can you hear me from in there? Well of course you can- I mean, if you're not deaf . . . Are you deaf?" The voice paused for a moment before continuing. "Sorry, that was a silly thing to ask- gosh, darn it! If she were deaf how exactly would she even hear that question-"

"Wow, you are quite the talkative one, aren't ya?"

With that sentence uttered, Chell turned around with a hand on her hip, and saw the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"Sorry! I'm sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your, uh . . . what exactly are you doing?"

* * *

(Just a quick note: The misspelling of the word "detergent" was intentional.)


	2. Assistant Slave Janitor Wheatley

AN: Sorry for the wait! This chapter is a little shorter than I wanted it to be, but I've got exams to study for, so I guess I'll have leave it that way T_T. On a side note, I've decided to at least attempt to post a new chapter every weekend- hope you're okay with that. That's all for now- please review, if you can. Criticism and suggestions will be greatly appreciated.

* * *

"I'm seeking cleaning supplies, my friend!" Chell replied with much enthusiasm as she pointed to her name card. "I am the new janitor of this facility."

"Oh! Well, you're the one I've been looking for!" the blue-eyed man gushed. "I'm your assistant- as you can see right here, yep, on my shiny new name card," he gestured wildly to the aforementioned name card, index finger jabbing at the words CARL WHEATLEY: ASSISTANT SLAVE JANITOR. Chell peered-stared, more of- at it for perhaps a moment too long, with her face contorted into some unearthly expression that elicited a nervous reaction from the name card's owner.

"Uh . . . um- why are you staring at me like that?"

Chell looked up, which seemed to startle him even more.

"I-I'm sorry, didn't mean it like that-you can look at me all you want, really-Oh gosh that sounds reallyreallyreally wrong doesn't it? It sounds so wrong . . .Ugh!" Mr. Carl Wheatley ran a hand through his hair, sighing in pure, utter defeat as he proceeded to drown in a pool of awkwardness and accidental dirty talk.

"Wheatley. That's your name, innit?"

"Wheatley's uh . . . my last name, actually- yeah, it's my last name, but lots of people call me that, so-"

"Wheatley, then. I'll call you Wheatley."

Chell's mind instantly flew to the number of cereal-box related jokes she could crack with that name- her lips curving into a smirk of satisfaction. Turning back to the closet, she opened her arms as wide as the narrow entrance would allow and declared fervently. "Now, let the cleaning begin, my Wheatilicious friend!"

"That sounds . . . good, actually-yeah sounds totally good- it sounds all of the good, in fact!"

* * *

Their first job was delivered to them via an incredibly loud announcement over the megaphone- followed by a whole lot of screaming at some barista called Martin. With that, the "Sanitization Duo", as Chell had cleverly dubbed them, took off to Lab #87.

As Chell kicked open the door with a fluorescent yellow boot she had bought off a hobo in the lobby, the Sanitization duo let their gaze rest on the horrific- and almost traumatizing- mess before of multi-coloured gel decorated the wall, violent splashes of a brown substance Chell could only recognize as coffee were scattered across the room- and worst of it all were the puddles of coffee-flavoured slime that soaked the test pads and documents- neither one of the Sanitization duo wanted to think about whatever caused this tragedy.

Chell jabbed Wheatley in the side with her almost unnaturally sharp elbow.

"What'cha waiting for? Let's get to cleaning!"

"Yes, sir!"

". . ."

"I mean ma'am. Totally meant to say ma'am. Lil' ol' Wheatley hasn't gone insane yet-"

"Shut up, and get the bucket, buddy."

"Okay, okay, getting the bucket. Just getting the bucket."

Mop in hand, Chell began a tedious battle against the repulsive repulsion gel.

* * *

_Later on . . ._

"Hey."

No response was received.

"Hey, Mr. Wholegrain Wheatley."

"Wha-?"

"Look what I found."

Chell waved her portalicious prize in the air, an impossibly wide grin of absolute triumph on her face. Wheatley's eyes went so wide, he could have been mistaken for a frog.

"What? Is that a portal gun?" He was far too shocked to proceed with his usual rambling- and Chell was rather grateful for that.

She nodded. "This is going to make our job much, much more exciting."

"Er . . . What so you plan on doing with that, exactly?" Wheatley's voice was filled to the very brim with anxiety.

"You'll see, my friend. You will see." And with that, Chell began her most masterful plan.


	3. The Most Masterful Plan

AN: So sorry it came out a couple days late! This chapter isn't as long as the previous one, and it might not be quite as funny. . . some things have been going on IRL, and I'm not in the best mood for my usual humor so please, do bear with me.

* * *

With a portal over here and a portal over there, Chell had everything set up for her most masterful plan in the span of five seconds. "Are you ready?" she grinned toothily in pure, unadulterated anticipation. Mr. Carl Wheatley, who was nervously clutching at a bucket of cold water, nodded and gave her what was supposed to be an anxious smile- but turned out looking like it was ripped from the face of the Cheshire Cat.

"Great. Now, throw the water!"

In his haste, the assistant slave janitor had tossed the water- along with the clunky, metal bucket into the portal on the floor. Chell, being the impatient person that she was, was too busy firing the next portal to notice it. The momentum gathered from the endless fall caused the water to fly at a particularly stubborn patch of blue gel, wiping its repulsive existence from the world.

. . . Meanwhile, the bucket proceeded to hurtle itself at the window next to the mentioned patch, thus smashing it to pieces. How rebellious of it!

"The hell?" muttered a very confused janitor as she picked her way through shattered glass to retrieve the offending bucket. "Wheatley! Why did ya' throw the bucket in too?!"

"Ah-I'm so sorry! Didn't mean to do that. Oh, I'm in trouble now, aren't I?"

"Argh, we gotta put this thing back together before the boss comes in."

And so the Sanitization Duo spent two minutes and forty-two seconds of their pointless, nonsensical lives in silent contemplation, before one of them finally spoke.

"The boss doesn't exactly have the best eyesight, does he?"

"Don't think so."

"Then, I might have an idea on how to fix this . . . maybe."

"How?" Chell placed her hands on her hips in a most demanding- and rather intimidating- pose.

Wheatley's eyes flitted back and forth from the tragically broken window to the floor like a hummingbird. "I-uh. . . I can't do it if you're watching. . ." he muttered at last.

"What did you say?"

"I can't do it if you're watching!"

"Why not? You're not gonna take off your clothes or anything, are ya'?"

"No! 'Course not. Just- Argh- Could you just turn around for a sec . . . please?"

Chell huffed irritably, but turned her back anyway. Wheatley quickly stuffed his face with some gel from his mop, mixing the repulsive stuff around in his mouth. He continued this very much desperate measure by coating each shard of glass with his adhesive spit, rearranging them back into the window frame. He wiped a trail of drool from his chin. "Okay, you can turn around now!"

Chell gaped at the smudges of gel on the other janitor's face. "Wheatley . . . Did you just . . . put repulsion gel in your mouth?"

Wheatley's face fell at the accusatory tone in her voice. "Sorry, I-"

He suddenly felt his shoulders being grabbed and shaken violently like a bottle of soda.

"Sir Starchy Wheatley, I dunno 'bout you, but I'm pretty sure that stuff is very, very much toxic and you should wash it out. Now."

"What?!"

Wheatley made a mad dash towards one of the buckets, and attempted to rinse the gel out with the water- only to immediately gag and spit it out after he realized he'd poured bubbling detergent into his mouth.

"Sir Starchy, don't drink detergent- it'll make you grow tentacles!"

"Aah!"

* * *

When the boss arrived ten minutes later and surprisingly for them managed to see the damage without much difficulty, he had punished the remorseful Sanitization Duo by making them work overtime.

Without portals- or extra pay, for that matter.

_Well,_ Wheatley thought. _At the very least he wasn't poisoned or crawling with tentacles . . . was he?__  
_

He double checked in the shower that night just to make sure.


	4. Childhood Flashbacks involving Radios

AN: Hey there, people! So, I've decided that this AU won't have Chell as the daughter of Cave Johnson and Caroline(as much as I love that fan-theory) because I'm pretty sure Cave wouldn't let his daughter clean up his employees' coffee-flavoured gel, would he? Anyway, I'm also going to try to be a little bit serious here and there in this fic as this will mostly be canon complaint- It starts in Aperture's glory days and will probably end after GLaDOS's takeover. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

The next morning, Chell arrived at the facility energized, and even more determined to prove her brilliance as a janitor after the previous day's events. Today was the day she would excel at whatever task given! Today was the day she'd prove to her boss that she wasn't a lazy lump! With that in mind, she strode down the corridors towards the Aperture Science Multi-Purpose Hall- where her Wheatilicious partner and not-so- Wheatilicious boss stood waiting for her.

"You two listen up- this afternoon there's gonna be one of Mr. Johnson's Science Fairs- got that?" started the boss. "Now you need to make sure this place is as clean as Ms. Caroline's private toilet.'How clean is that?' you ask? Let me tell you- it's spotless. So you know what I'm expecting."

He readjusted his tie of authority that matched his boots of authority that matched his baldness of authority. "And you-" He casted a sharp glance of authority at Chell. "No more shenanigans," he spoke before walking off with a stride of absolute, pure . . . . . . . _**authority.**_

Both Chell and Wheatley wished they had that much authority- it would be most glorious if they did.

Without further ado, the Sanitization Duo stepped into the hall and began to clean- the tedious way.

* * *

As Chell battled off a monstrous dust bunny, she noticed a small shape tucked in between the stage and the wall. She felt a sudden overwhelming urge to pick it up and rub her face all over it- which was exactly what she decided to do (minus the face-rubbing). When Chell blew the dust off her newly acquired prize, she realized that it was a radio.

A fancy Aperture Science approved radio.

Chell ran her fingers over the buttons and was thrown into a glorious childhood flashback!

* * *

_Years prior . . ._

"_Dad!" _

"_Hey there, my little poppy flower. How was school today?"_

"_Dad, I told ya' to stop calling me that. I'm ten!"_

_Dad laughed- something warm and loving._

"'_Course you are, sweetheart." He ruffled her hair._

_Chell crossed her arms and huffed in fake frustration. "Come here, I've got something to show you." _

_She turned around at that line, peering with much curiosity at the gadget her father was holding. It was white and sleek, with little buttons that Chell very desperately wanted to press. "What is that?" she asked, finger pointed at the object. "It's a radio, Chell."_

"_It plays music." Dad added as a sort of afterthought. _

"_I know what radios do, dad." Chell rolled her eyes._

_Chell picked the radio up with remarkably large hands, squinting at the unusual design type. "From your company?" she asked. "Yep- it's an Aperture Science approved radio."_

_Her eyes gazed in awe at the piece of technology. "Awesome . . ." she muttered._

"_I see you've finally gotten that radio I asked for, son." Grandma came walking from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, smirk on her face. "'Course I did, mama."_

"_Come on, sweetie," said Dad all of a sudden. "Let's show you how to dance- Estaban family style!"_

_And Chell was swept right off her feet._

_The dance was fast and twirly- Chell was really dizzy by the end of it- but she'd smiled and laughed and sang along . Grandma had shown her how to tango._

_("Pretty girl like you should know how to show up your future hubby on the dance floor, hmm?")_

_Grandma liked to talk about marriage. _

_("I'm not pretty, Grandma- I'm fabulous!")_

* * *

"Chell?"

"Chell?!"

"Chell, are you still alive?!"

The orange-clad janitor snapped out of her trance, almost dropping the radio in the process. "What?"

Wheatley, sighed in frustration. "Argh! You've been standing here completely still for the last ten bloody minutes. What happened?"

"Childhood flashback."

"For ten minutes?"

"For ten minutes."

Wheatley sighed again as Chell finished off the fatally wounded dust bunny. "Ugh, we still have so much to clean!" he complained. "You know- I've pulled out twenty bits of bubblegum from the floor. Twenty!"

"Okay, calm yo' grains- where's all the bubblegum?"

Wheatley pointed accusingly at a patch of pink still stuck to the corner.

Chell put down the radio and strode over to the sticky monstrosity, before scraping it off instantly with the handle of her mop like a super janitor. As she turned around again, she found Wheatley prodding at the radio. "Wow, this blue LED display's really cool isn't it? Ah- reminds me of jellyfish. . ."

Surveying the hall, Chell realized that the floor had been swept, the dust bunnies have been rendered extinct, and the bubblegum had been cleaned off- which left the mopping.

"Hey, Starchy."

"Yeah. . .?"

Chell pushed the 'ON' button of the radio. "Wanna dance?"

"Huh?!" exclaimed Wheatley as if the invitation was some sort of anomaly that only occurred once in a million years.

Mop in hand, Chell began to glide across the hall's floor like a ballerina on crack. "Come on, Mr. Wholegrain!" she turned to the blue-eyed janitor as she shimmied like a fabulous diva. "What'cha got in the groove department?"

All of a sudden, Wheatley's confused face morphed into a very uncharacteristic game-face. "Are you challenging Aperture's grooviest dance star?"

"Pfft! You seem to me more like Aperture's lamest dance blackhole."

"I'll show you lame!" He began to –surprisingly- smash out some pretty fabulous moves of his own.

"Oh, it's on!"

_This was a triumph! We're makin' a note here: HUGE SUCCESS! It's hard to overstate our satisfaction!_

Chell swayed her hips side to side like it was nobody's business- following the beat like her grandmother had taught her, all the while scrubbing germs off the floor. Wheatley was doing pretty great himself- rockin' out like a spiky-haired rock star with glasses.

_Aperture Science! We do what we must because we can! For the good of all of us- except the ones who got FIRED!_

Chell had learned one thing about the blue-eyed janitor that day- he did not hold back when dancing.

It only took five minutes to get the entire floor shining like a new coin.

_But there's no sense crying over every mistake, you just keep on trying 'till you run out of cake! And the Science gets done! And you make a neat gun! For the people who are still alive! Still alive! _

_Still alive!_

* * *

"You two seemed to have done a good job today, unlike the last time." The boss let out a hum of approval.

"Well done."

After he walked out of the room (and took about fifteen authority-filled steps away), Chell slammed her fist into Wheatley's own before yelling;

"Victory is ours!"

"Yeah! Victory!"

"Hey, Chell?"

"Yes, my Wheatilicious friend?"

"Do you think we could do this again sometime?"

"Well, we _are_ gonna be cleaning this place again tomorrow after the fair."

"No, not that- I mean the dancing."

"Oh . . . uh . . . Sure, why not?"

"Great!"

"Oh! My bus is here, catch you later!" Wheatley waved at the other janitor before taking off.

Chell leaned against the locker- casually wondering if she still remembered where she'd placed Grandma's tango songs.


	5. Lunch Break (Part 1)

AN: As per usual, I have written this in the wee hours of the morning like the procrastinating champ I am. Thus, please do tell me if you spot a mistake somewhere- I would really appreciate that (especially considering that my inner editor isn't open for business until 8.00am). Anyway, please enjoy this chapter brought to you by me.

* * *

The day after the fair, Chell and Wheatley had spent four hours arranging chairs, mopping up spilled orange juice- and of course, pulling more bubblegum off the floor.(The Sanitization Duo was starting to very much despise whoever invented the stuff.)

And after those aforementioned four hours, Wheatley had raised a question.

"Hey, um . . . Cheeeell?" asked Sir Starchy, drawling out her name for whatever silly reason his mind had conjured.

"Yeaaah?" Amused, the Chell decided to mimic this odd style of speech.

"Wanna go out for lunch with meeee . . . ?"

"Okaaay . . ."

With that, the two had casually trudged over to the Aperture Science Deluxe Café- the word 'Deluxe' having been scribbled on with chalk. The café was a mere re-purposed toilet- the dividers between stalls removed and used as the kitchen, while the sinks were shoddily covered up with wooden planks and used as tables. Light blue and orange paint coated the walls, with cute little hearts drawn in with darker shades of the colours.

A white sign covered in balloon pictures decorated the front- 'PLEASE DO NOT ALLOW THE FAINT STENCH OF URINE TO AFFECT YOUR APPETITE. TRUST US, THERE IS NO URINE HERE,' it said.

'AT LEAST, NOT A LETHAL AMOUNT,' was penciled in tiny red letters at the button.

Chell bent down to the green chalkboard to read the menu.

_Today's Special- _

Space Muffins (Courtesy of Sasha)

"Ooh! I do like a good muffin," said Wheatley as he marched inside like a chump. "So do I, my friend! I wonder if it's made out of moon rocks," pondered Chell. "That would be rather glorious- and potentially deadly!"

"Two space muffins, please,"

"Comin' right up, astronauts!" a bright-eyed girl with brunette pigtails dashed into the kitchen to fetch their order, leaving Chell and Wheatley all alone at their sink-table.

"So, uh . . . Have any hobbies or interests?" Sir Starchy attempted to stir up some conversation.

"Besides dancing, I don't really know . . . Do canned beans count as an interest?"

"Canned beans?!" exclaimed Wheatley like the world depended on how dramatic his exclamation was. "Who likes canned beans?" he spoke again, very much aghast that anyone could enjoy such an abomination. "I do! What's wrong with them?" said Chell, defending her position as a canned bean lover.

"Well, they're gassy for one thing- and it's barely enough nutrients for one day!"

"Woah, Sir Starchy- didn't know you were a health food supporter. D'ya eat tofu too?" asked Chell teasingly.

"No- well, yes actually. But only 'cause my brother eats it."

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah- two of the little buggers."

"Younger or older? Are they annoying?"

"One of each- and both act like small children!" Wheatley ran a hand through his hair. "They drive me absolutely bonkers sometimes!"

"Yikes," remarked Chell. "What the hell do they do?"

"Well," he began his rant. "-there was this one time while my dad was at work. I was cooking dinner and I had come up with this method of frying two pans of eggs and another pan of fish at the same time with only two stoves. Argh! It was brilliant, really," Sir Starchy threw his hands into the air to emphasize the brilliance of it. "But then Bert and the squirt just _had_ to be running around and tripping me over, didn't they? So I fell flat on my face, dropped dinner, and then had to clean the whole thing up a make it again."

"Then later, while I was still cooking, Bert swaggered over, and just went 'I'm hungry, bro'- and you know what I did?" Wheatley was on his feet by this point in his tragic tale, gesturing wildly and drawing the attention of everyone in the café (but there were only two people there, so it wasn't such a big deal).

"What? Did you punch him in the face whilst screaming in pure, unadulterated rage?" asked Chell, almost as excited as her fellow janitor was.

"Wha?! No!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't do something so violent! No, no, I sent him to his room and told him to think about what he did." At this, Chell had to suppress a chuckle.

"So, you're Mama Starchy now, huh? How exactly did that happen?"

"My mum writes for a travel magazine- runs around vacationing and rambling about it on paper," he grumbled, pouting. "And dad's gotta work- so since I'm the only mature one among the three of us- I took up the job."

"Uh, sorry about that . . ." he apologized, all of a sudden. "I just get a little emotional with things like this."

"Oh, it's absolutely fine. In fact, compared to most of my friends- you're considered very much stoic!"

Wheatley blushed a little at this- a light pink glow decorating his pale skin.

.

.

.

"Whoosh!" a sudden yell jolted the Sanitization Duo from their conversation. "U.S.S Muffins coming through!" the waitress from before came running, carrying two muffins on a tray. The muffins were coated in a dark blue frosting, and decorated with little stars that came in orange (this colour scheme seemed particularly popular in Aperture, as most people might have noticed).

Chell quickly glanced at the waitress's Aperture Science waitress name card.

**'Hi, I'm Sasha- at your Science-loving service!'**

it said, with black marker. And at the bottom of the card there was a penciled in message that stated:

_And if I don't serve you with a smile, feel free to draw one on my face with a pen!_

This Sasha had a rather glorious sense of humor, you see.

"Very much thanks, my friend!" said Chell enthusiastically.

The waitress's mouth suddenly switched from a carefree smile to a grim line, and she stepped a few steps back. With a fist clutched to her chest, she bowed, closing her eyes. It was a most serious bow- _the_ most serious bow the Sanitization duo had ever seen.

"It is an honour to serve you . . ." she said, still with that serious tone. " . . . on behalf of my homeland . . ."

And then all at once her expression changed and she yelled at the top of her lungs. " . . . in SPACE! Ha ha! Gotcha there, didn't I?"

Both janitors could only dissolve into disbelieving laughter at that point. "My . . . god . . ." Wheatley choked out in between fits of his humorous affliction.

"Oh! There's another ship coming into the docking station. Gotta fly!" she said again before running over to the next set of customers with another cheesy 'whooshing' sound effect. With the Sasha the amusing waitress busy and unable to continue entertaining them, the Sanitization Duo resorted to actually eating their muffins.

Although she didn't say it out loud, Chell was rather paranoid about the blue frosting. She was almost completely convinced that it was conceived from an unearthly mixture of icing and moon rocks. Not wanting to be a spoilsport, however, Chell decided to take in a mouthful of blue . . .

_OH NO, IT'S A SUDDEN CLIFFHANGER- KILL IT!_

AN: And that concludes Part 1 of Lunch Break. Stay tuned for Chell's space muffin experience, more nonsensical dialogue and more friend making- all coming to a cinema near you! Next Sunday, that is.


	6. Lunch Break (Part 2)

AN: Sorry for being late again! Argh- it seems like I can never keep up with my schedule. Apologies for this being such a short chapter- I've been quite busy as of recent times. The next chapter will be back to the usual length (hopefully). Please do review if possible- I'd really appreciate it!

* * *

_Not wanting to be a spoilsport, however, Chell decided to take in a mouth full of blue frosting . . ._

. . . and nearly gagged at how incredibly horrible the thing tasted. Who could come up with such an atrocity?! It tasted of cloves and chili- mixed together with diluted sour milk into some sort of unearthly combination! A sudden voice snapped Chell out of the horribleness, replacing it with a sense of dread and utter bewilderment.

"Mm! This tastes great!"

Why, Mr. Wholegrain Wheatley? Why? Why must you torture me so?, thought Chell, who in her attempt at courtesy nodded and gave Wheatley the most forced smile she had ever given to anyone. She swallowed the chunk of muffin with much difficulty, feeling its rough edges sliding down her throat like sand.

Her partner guzzled his own muffin with gusto, like a starving man who'd just been given a piece of the finest steak in the city. "Hey, Sasha! This is a lovely bit of muffin here- you're a bloody amazing cook!" he yelled at the waitress, who replied with a shouted 'Thanks!'. Chell forced herself to down another 'lovely bit of muffin', trying her hardest not to cringe.

"So, what's your favourite food?" asked Sir Starchy.

_Certainly not muffins_, Chell thought to herself bitterly.

"Black forest cake."

"Ooh!"

Al of a sudden she felt a horrible sensation on the tip of her tongue- what on earth was that strange chunk in the pastry?! It tasted like rotten meat! With a sense of dread and panic, Chell realized that it was a cockroach- a live cockroach.

"So, how's it for you, my fantastic lady astronaut?"

Chell almost screamed at the waitress, but seeing Sasha's eager, hopeful eyes- she decided against it with much determination.

"It's much delicious, I assure you," she said with a grin, roughly shoving the roach to one side with her tongue. "However!" she declared abruptly. "I _do_ need to go to the restroom- so, bye!" With that, the janitor began her mad dash to one of Aperture's fancy lavatories, leaving a very confused Wheatley all alone.

* * *

"Gee- I hope your girlfriend's okay."

"My what?!" Wheatley turned towards the waitress, eyes wide.

"She's not your girlfriend?" asked Sasha, with the look of a confused puppy.

"Well, I think you two would make a great couple- are you thinking of asking her out? Well, to somewhere a little classier than this humble hangar?"

" . . . Maybe." A slight blush coloured Sir Starchy's cheeks.

"Fantastic! You two are like a pair of astronauts stuck in a cramped escape pod. Well, I best get going!"

Wheatley gulped down the last bit of muffin, sighing in relief that it was over- he couldn't believe that he'd managed to get it all past his throat. He also couldn't believe he'd managed to even toss a few compliments to the budding "cook". _Score one for Wheatley!_

Wiping his mouth with his little blue napkin, he _oh-so-casually_ wondered if he had enough money to get ingredients for a good black forest cake- and if Chell was free on Sunday afternoon.


	7. Periwinkle Eyes (Act 1)

AN: I am so sorry for the long wait! I've been busy with school (as usual), but here's a chapter with more of Aperture's "darker tones" to make up for it.

* * *

Wheatley marched through the corridors like a determined war hero, making his way to the janitor closet. He had everything planned out like a master tactician- the type of flour he was going to use, the kind of red candy topping, the kind of butter . . . there was only one thing left.

"Hey, Chell! What's your favourite kind of choc-?"

"Ah, Mr. Carl. Good, you're finally here."

Boss?! What was he doing here so early?

The authority-filled boss was standing next to Chell, whose back was as straight as that of a military officer. "Hello! So, uh . . . What's going on?" Real smooth, Sir Starchy.

"I have a special task for the two of you today," said the boss, serious as per usual.

"Ooh! I love tasks. I really do."

"Great. I need you two to go down to Test Chamber #0." He readjusted his tie.

_Zero? Ooh, sounds real exciting!_ Zeroes- ah, they were always exciting.

The boss readjusted his tie again. "A little . . . accident happened down there with the mantis-man experiments."

"You mean the one with all the guns?"

"Yes . . . That one."

Chell and Wheatley glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

Oh, this was not going to be good, was it?

"Remember to bring some of those with you," he said, gesturing to set of Aperture Science approved toxic garbage bags.

Wheatley and Chell nodded their heads with much determination, before picking up their tools- Chell had the mops, Wheatley had the bags.

"You might want to use a basket to carry those bags-"

Wheatley promptly stuck the set of bags over his head, determined look still on his face. He will not lose this battle! He will win! He will achieve victory, and Chell will wear a pink dress with puffy sleeves and he will carry her bridal style up to their bedro- Well, maybe not to the bedroom.

"Or you could stick it over your head . . .? Well- just try not to choke, okay?" the boss began to walk away, readjusting his tie for the fifty thousandth time that day.

"I'd hate to have to replace the slave janitors so soon. Those fake ads cost a lot."

* * *

Test Chamber #0 was a dark, dark place- cobwebs, suspicious red splatters, oozing piles of goo- it was just like a scene out of a horror film. Carl Wheatley, of course, was not bothered by it all. Really, it didn't faze him one bit. . .

"Gah! Bloody hell, what is that thing?!" he shrieked, tools clattering to the floor.

Chell being Chell, instantly picked up her mop and started smashing the doll like a piñata repeatedly 'till it fell off from the ceiling like a large wad of wet laundry. Wheatley fumbled for his torchlight, heart pounding as he switched it on, revealing a lump of rubber, molded to look like a crude representation of a human being.

It's only facial features were a pair of drawn-on X's for eyes, and some text that read: REPLACEMENT FOR SUBJECT 3. "H-Hey, Sir Starchy?"

"Yeah?"

"I think this might be a two bag job."

Wheatley quickly pulled out a pair of plastic bags, along with a pair of scissors- something told him that the doll wasn't fitting through that narrow door whole. Chell took the pair of scissors from him, crouching down to begin dispatching the . . . whatever that thing was.

To her horror, a gooey vermillion liquid splashed right out, coating her in red as Mr. Wholegrain Wheatley screamed like a baby. "My god! Is that blood?! What kind of psychopath would put blood in a doll?"

"Fact: I would."

"Argh!"

This time, both Chell and Wheatley screamed like babies, hugging each other tightly in fear of the disembodied voice that had somehow picked up their scent trail- and decided to hunt them down.

A tall, shadowy figure slowly emerged from the pits of the abyss, long, shiny black boots clicking in the darkness. The soft glow from the blue-eyed janitor's fallen torchlight illuminated the man's face, revealing skin as pale as a sheet, and a smile too cold to be real.

"Salutations. I believe we may have met, junior."

Blue eyes met violet, and it was now Wheatley's turn to be thrown into some estranged childhood flashback.

* * *

"_Salutations, junior."_

_A kid, couldn't be any more than ten. A snobby teenager, couldn't be any less than thirteen. And a little brother in tears._

"_Hey! What did you do to him, Mitchelson?!" demanded the kid, balling his fists and referring to the teenager by his last name- his elder brother had said it would make him sound scarier._

"_Oh, nothing out of the ordinary."_

"_H-He called me stupid!"_

_The teenager shot the brother an irate roll of the eyes. "I believe the correct term was, 'intelligence-lacking brat'."_

"_It means the same thing!" yelled the younger brother in frustration._

"_Don't worry, Lennie," reassured the kid._

"_I got him."_

* * *

Back to present time, Wheatley was occupying himself with a very much productive hobby of glaring daggers at the mysterious man before him.

"Sir Starchy, are you still alive?!"

"Wait, what?! 'Course I am."

"You've been standin' there, just glaring your head off at 'im! For ten minutes!"

"Ten minutes? Hmm, it didn't felt like that long . . ."

Chell placed her hands on her hips, giving Wheatley her own glare. "Well, I've been over here, oh-so-very-much-easily chopping this doll into twenty pieces!"

"'M sorry . . ." Wheatley hung his head in shame like a scolded puppy.

"Perhaps you might like some assistance in cleaning up this . . . trainwreck, miss?"

"No can do. This is the job of the Sanitization Duo, good sir . . . whatever your name is!" said Chell, brandishing her mop like a weapon- which was deemed slightly ineffective by the fact that it was still floppy and soaking wet with doll blood.

The purple-eyed man blinked. "Oh, forgive me for forgetting to introduce myself. How careless of me, he remarked. "I am Dr. Alex Mitchelson," he said, extending his hand towards Chell, and pointedly away from Wheatley.

"I ran this experiment."


	8. Periwinkle Eyes (Act 2)

AN: Wow, this got dark fast. There might not be any jokes in this chapter or the next few chapters, 'cause I'm trying to focus on Alex's kinda dark backstory, so sorry about that.

* * *

"I ran this experiment."

"You did _what?!_" Wheatley yelled all of a sudden, smashing his mop to the floor like a trident- which was rather uncharacteristic of him. "Ha! Ahahaha- I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" he yelled again, with laughter that sounded almost mad.

"Knew what, junior?"

"Heh heh. Remember when we were kids and yo-you pushed me off that slide that one time? Yeah, remember that?" Chell was starting to worry now, she really was.

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, do you remember what I said _next?_"

"I don't recall."

"I said that you were gonna be a psychopathic mad scientist who kills people for a living didn't I? _Didn't I?_"

"Sir Starchy?"

"Yeah, I said that, and you just went 'Is that what you think, junior?', and then I punched you in the face!"

"Sir Starchy!"

Chell smacked him on the back. "Mr. Wholegrain Wheatley, in case you haven't noticed, there's still ½ of a very much terrifying doll on the ground, and I ain't movin' it on my own!"

"O-Oh. Sorry, Chell," said Wheatley, even more sheepish than he was before. "I got my eye on you," he mouthed, glaring at Alex like he was the worst thing in the world. Chell, being the very supportive friend she was proceeded to give Alex the "V" finger-to-eye gesture, before crouching down next to the mess on the ground again.

Wheatley began to stuff the cut up doll pieces into one of his bags, glancing warily at the purple-eyed man every few seconds, or perhaps moments.

Eventually the doll was nothing but a red, sticky smear on the ground, which Chell quickly mopped up with her mad skills. Oh, and a mop.

"Miss. . . Chell, is it?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I just wanted to check if I heard correctly."

* * *

"_Oh, it's nothing. I just wanted to check if I heard correctly."_

_The kid turned his neck slowly, in pure, utter horror. He found the teenager standing right there behind him._

"_In that case, well then, uh . . . yes. I did just say you probably killed puppies in your free time," squeaked the kid's friend uncomfortably._

_Something in the teenager's face shifted- almost like it flaked, and peeled off._

"_I don't- I don't kill dogs."_

_Strange, the teenager rarely spoke a sentence involving only words two or less syllables long. He did not commonly stammer, either._

"_That's my . . . dad's job."_

_He turned, the flaking piece still flapping in the wind and his shoulders still shaking._

_The next time they'd see him, everything would be back together again, a smooth mask._

"Come on, Sir Starchy, where's your flashlight? We've got cleaning to do!"

* * *

Wheatley gazed around quickly, kneeling to the floor trying to feel for his flashlight. It seemed like it had just disappeared into oblivion, never to return again. Ever.

"Damn it!" yelled Chell, clearly frustrated at all the obstacles in her way to doing a decent job. She began to march towards the million hour long elevator ride, but was quickly stopped.

"Now, now, Miss- no need for that. I happen to have a couple of flashlights in my observation room."

Alex waved a set of keys in his hand, before disappearing into the darkness. There was the clicking sound of a door, followed by silence, and then . . .

"Boo."

"Argh!"

Wheatley took a moment to regain his composure, before turning to glare at the laughing scientist that just _had_ to be psychopathic. "Here," Alex handed him the flashlight- fuchsia, his least favourite colour. Ugh.

Wheatley shined the light at a group of messy chunks, gasping after he realized that those were chunks of mantis man and human flesh. "Oh my god! Is that what I think it is?!"

"If you think those are fun-sized corpses, then yes."

Alex spared the mess a casual glance before looking back at the terrified janitor. "I did not sign up for this- that's it! I'm out. I am definitely out."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Wheatley turned back to him. "Why not?" he asked, a very uncharacteristic edge to his voice.

"Yes indeed, Alex- why shouldn't he?"

The elder scientist put his hands in his pockets. "The boss won't be too pleased if his two most _elite_ janitors leave a job unfinished," he said, with a mildly sarcastic tone. "Especially not this type of job. Take this as a warning, junior. He will want you silenced."

Wheatley froze in his tracks.

"What d'ya mean by silenced?" Chell almost hissed.

"I'm sure you know what I mean, Miss."

"Are you threatening us?!"

"I assure you, I'm not," he said. "I'm simply informing you of Aperture's protocol. And I'm sure if you just clean this up and forget about it, everything will be fine."

Alex gazed at the neatly arranged piles of chopped limbs and flesh throughout the limbs.

"Besides, I've already cut them up for you- the rest should be easy."


	9. Periwinkle Eyes (Act 3)

AN: Guess what? I'm late for the millionth time. :P Okay, this time was mostly due to a lack of inspiration- I haven't played Portal or read a fic of it in ages- and also laziness. . . so, well, there's that. Sorry

* * *

Wheatley couldn't believe what he was doing- cleaning up corpses, _corpses_, in the bowels of bloody Aperture Science, with that psychopath standing there just staring at him like he was some sort of . . . some sort of exhibition! He chucked another bit of dead body into the black bag, after pausing to glare at Alex for a moment.

"Yes . . .?"

"Nothing," Wheatley made a noise very much akin to a feral growl emitted by a starving wolf, along with baring his teeth and glaring some more.

"Okay~"

_Bloody hell_ was he as obnoxious as the blue-eyed janitor remembered. Wheatley began to tug at a gigantic piece of torso, grunting with the effort. Unfortunately for our poor little bag of starch and sugar, the dead meat proved to be far too heavy for his lanky arms.

"Um, Chell? Could you help me out a bit here?"

The other janitor's silhouette looked up. "Sorry, bud- I'm very much occupied with these . . . 'fun sized corpses'," she said. "Maybe Mr. Pretentious Scientist over there wouldn't mind dirtying his hands to help you." Wheatley was pretty sure she'd shot Alex a glare of her own.

_Way to go, mate!_ He thought to himself, smirking.

"Sure~"

Hell no.

The psychopathic scientist moved. One step closer to Wheatley, two steps closer to Wheatley, and then . . .

"OH NEVERMIND, I CAN LIFT IT MYSELF!" Wheatley shrieked all of a sudden, hugging the giant piece of torso and throwing it into the bag- anything, _anything_ to avoid letting Alex help him. "Whoa, calm down Sir Starchy!" Chell abandoned her own stack of corpse, dashing over to her partner who was completely covered in guts, rotten flesh, blood and who knows what other disgusting fluids?

As our valiant janitor in orange attempted to clean the innards off her partner with a mop and a pack of tissues, it was now Alex's turn to get thrown into a faraway childhood flash- oh, you get the message.

Let's go!

* * *

_Today papa had brought him company. A puppy- all beautiful shaggy fur and licks, and he had named her Hydro. She loved him- but not like the way papa loved him. Hydro was soft and sweet and romps in the yard. _

_ It felt awful when he saw papa take her to the lab. Nothing he takes into the lab ever comes back. Alex cried later on, asking papa where Hydro went. _

_There was a slap, and then nothingness. _

_A black void- just like him._

_The next morning he'd find a clump of Hydro's shaggy fur on papa's desk- stained with red and green._

* * *

"Bloody Aperture and its bloody experiments and its bloody psychopathic scientists- ridiculous! Really. . ." Ah, Junior and his rambling tendencies. "It's all for Science, junior," said Alex, pushing the button that opened the next section of Test Chamber #0. "Bloody Science . . ." muttered the janitor under his breath, as he dusted the last of the entrails off his shirt.

Chell sorted out the corpse-filled bags, piling them up in a corner. "Come on, Wheat- Let's get cleanin'!" she waved the stack of black bags in the air, before marching over to the opening. . . and getting smacked in the face by a bouncing cube. "Gah!" Chell screamed, falling over into a puddle of who-knows-what. "Who put that there?"

"Oh, apologies for that!" said Alex as he helped Chell up- much to our Sir Starchy's chagrin. "I didn't realize they had used the other section for a repulsion gel test, please forgive me_." Repulsion gel- ugh, that wasn't real science!_ What would bouncing around like a maniac do for humanity? Did it help to develop new weaponry like the mantis man experiment did? _Of course not_, thought Alex.

By this time, Chell and Junior had started to scrub the floor of the first section-the grimy ground almost instantly clearing up to reveal a shiny tiled surface. Next were the windows- how exactly did they rid the glass of those melodramatically splashed bloodstains so quickly? And did Junior just _lick_ that window? Alex leaned against the door of his observation room contemplating these facts when a sudden voice interrupted him.

"Get in here kid."

Alex tilted his head to the side, gazing into his observation room almost wistfully.

"Papa?"

* * *

Chell launched a very much glorious mop attack at the wall, pumping her fist into the air in pure, unadulterated triumph. Hearing the "psychopathic scientist" mutter something, she turned towards the doorway where he was standing. Emphasis on 'was', for he had apparently disappeared into oblivion . . . or more logically, perhaps, into his observation room.

The orange-clad janitor decided to poke her head into the open door and investigate.

* * *

Somewhere, behind several doors, a periwinkle-eyed scientist stood over a bloodstained tie, which he cradled lovingly after a few moments.

"There you are, papa."


	10. Periwinkle Eyes (Act 4)

"Hello? Alex? Where haft thou gone?"

This was very much suspicious, Chell thought. One moment, he was standing right there, and the next moment, poof! Blammo! It was almost like he was never really there in the first place.

There was no sign of him on the inside of his room, with only one locked door leading anywhere. While Chell attempted to find the keys, she was rather certain that Wheatley had taken the chance to poke his nose into Alex's stuff, for he was shuffling through the man's belongings, muttering something about a pendant. Come to think of it, Wheatley had been acting very much strangely, as of late- and Chell wanted to know why.

"Hey, Sir Starchy."

"Hmm? Yeah, Chell?" he looked up from his snooping, hands buried under stacks of papers and blueprints. "Whatever's going on with you and Mr. Pretentious? You two seem to be very much on edge with each other."

"Oh . . . um- it's a long story."

"Well, it looks like we're not finding those keys anytime soon-so I wanna hear it," said Chell, arms crossed and leaving not a millimeter of space for debate.

"Argh- okay, okay!" Sir Starchy surrendered.

"That bloody snob picked on my brother and I a lot back when we were in school," he started. "Turns out his father was a real jerk-argh! All puppy-killing and child-ruining. . . Then, once, _I thought _we could be friends- so I got together with some of my mates at school and tried to bust him out of his house when his dad locked him in. . .thought we could call the police or something to help him once we got him out," Wheatley stopped to breathe for the first time, before continuing.

"Then when we got in his dad was already waiting there like he was ready for us, crossing his arms like some big champ- then Alex went and basically just declared that none of us were his friends and bloody banished us from his house. . . the ungrateful bastard!"

"And the pendant?"

"I gave it to the guy the day before- he didn't even return it! Must have been lying about his dad, too!" exclaimed Wheatley. "Never saw him again in school since. Bloody good riddance too . . ."

The sudden rattling of a key jolted Wheatley out of his dramatic narration.

The door opened, just as the Sanitization Duo turned their heads. "Sorry about that. . ." said the scientist as he walked out, locking the door again behind him. Chell noticed a tie clasped in his right hand, stained with a red she could only assume was blood.

"I had some . . . matters to attend to," he said, simply, before putting on the tie.

"Okay. . ." said Chell as she quickly backed out of the room. "Wheat- how about we go clean the other section, now?"

"Sure," Wheatley agreed quickly, dashing out of the room to join Chell where they had placed their buckets and mops, leaving Alex alone at his desk.

* * *

Chell noticed that her partner wasn't cleaning with the same gusto he usually was. He scrubbed slowly and tediously at the blue gel, muttering something incoherent.

Honestly, Chell had absolutely no idea what to do- her best option at this point would be to try to finish up the job at a very much fast pace, and then get out of there and hope Sir Starchy would return to his usual bubbly self.

She cleaned the last of the repulsion gel off the cube, before placing it on the floor and examining their work. The place was almost completely clean, save for the splotch that the other janitor was working at. "Hey, Sir Starchy- when we're done, how 'bout we just get outta here and forget we ever saw that guy, okay? 'S not like we're gonna be running into him anytime soon, if I can help it."

Mr. Wholegrain Wheatley seemed to relax a little bit at this. "Sounds like a great idea," he said.

* * *

"_Kid, what have I SAID ABOUT INVITING FRIENDS OVER?!"_

"_I-I'm sorry, papa . . . but they're not my friends, okay? Please don't hurt them. . ."_

"_. . . Now, now son, don't cry. . .If you just show me they're not your friends, nothing's gonna happen, alright?"_

"_O-okay. . . I love you papa."_

"_Hmm."_

* * *

"_Stop crying kid, and focus."_

"_. . ."_

"_I said FOCUS!"_

_Focus. FOCUS. Focusfocusfocusfocus. . . ._

* * *

_Papa's gone._

_There's blood everywhere._

_D-Did I do this?_

_Whose blood is it? Mine or papa's? I can't tell the difference. . ._

* * *

_I have no clue where I am. There's a persistent beeping. Where's papa?_

_I still have Carl's pendant. Is it in my right hand? Or my left?_

_I can't tell. . . _

_My head hurts. . ._

* * *

_The pendant. . ._

Alex reached into his pocket, finding the blue whale-shaped pendant still sitting there, like it always was. He turned it over in his fingers, slowly, contemplatively.

"Hey, Alex! We're . . . gonna be going now- bye!" Chell waved at him, out of courtesy before stepping into the elevator.

The scientist waved back, his other hand still clasped around the pendant. He could hear papa whispering to him- something intelligible, but urgent. He stroked the tie, slowly. It was still too big for him, after all those years.

"Gah! Why won't it bloody work!"

Junior's sudden shout made Alex raise his head. The janitor was pounding his fist on the elevator button. "Argh, the power's out! Just great. . ."

Alex cast a quick glance at his control board- yes, the power was indeed out, which meant . . . oh, god- the mantis men!

The scientist almost yelled for the two janitors to take the emergency stairs, but cut himself short when he realized that there _was no emergency stairs_\- "Too expensive!" Mr. Johnson had said. "And it's not like our generator's going to just up and die anytime soon, right? Heh heh. . ."

Oh, the cruel truth.

He could already hear the mantis men growling from where they were kept- damn it, he knew the force field doors were a bad idea! Alex reached for his gun and keys quickly, jamming them into the door.

"Chell, Junior! Come on!" he yelled as the two dashed into the observation room. Chell shut the door behind her with a slam as the test chamber filled up with hissing mantis men.

The scientist kicked open the entrance to the corridor, shoving the keys into Junior's hand. "There's a couple more doors before the Vital Apparatus Vent- use that to get out!"

Just as he spoke, the glass shattered under the pounding fists of mantis men.

"Now!"

* * *

AN: Finally after so many chapters- the real meat of this "Periwinkle Eyes" arc! Sorry it took so long to get to this point- I got a little bit carried away with fleshing out the back story and stuff- but stuff's gonna hit the fan in the next chapter, so stay tuned!


	11. Periwinkle Eyes (Act 5: Final Act)

AN: I'm so, so sorry I took this bloody long to write another chapter- honestly, it's just shameful! That hiatus was mostly caused by my mid-term examinations, which are over now (thank goodness), so I should be back tot he regular schedule. Hope you enjoy this chapter, please tell me what you think so I can improve, and see you next time!

* * *

"Now!"

With that, Wheatley and Chell had taken off into the darkness, gunshots and snarls ringing out behind them like an alarm.

The windows and doors leading to the other old test chambers were all barred up, Wheatley noticed, as he dashed past them. The keys in his hand felt bulky, like there was something else within their jingly ranks- but the janitor disregarded it as some strange key chain.

"Hey, Sir Starchy- over here!" Chell gestured wildly towards a door- old and worn, with a purple sticker displaying the all too familiar Vital Apparatus Vent symbol decorating its front. The first key Wheatley jammed into the lock didn't quite fit- same with the next one, and the next. It took the dim witted janitor eight tries to realize that the keys were colour coded.

At this realization, he quickly shoved the purple key into the doorknob and turned.

The corridor beyond that door was even more desolate- beams breaking apart and falling into rotting heaps on the ground. _Grraahhh. . ._

Wheatley froze. The mantis men couldn't have caught up to them, he thought at first- but the growling was getting closer, the sound of claws scarping on concrete drawing nearer and nearer like that of a predator looking for a cheap source of fresh meat.

He turned quickly to the door before him, expecting another colour coded sticker- but there was nothing. Some animal or employee with itchy fingers must have scraped it off. Panicky, he began to jam the keys in at random once more, just hoping he'd find the right one.

Carl Wheatley really, really had not signed up for this.

Neither had Chell Estaban, for a matter of fact.

"Damn it! I thought this was a prestigious research center that just happened to have a few mishaps here and there- not a very much murderous slaughterhouse full of mantis-men!" she huffed in frustration, as the imposing sound approached like wildfire, but with teeth.

The orange clad janitor quickly picked up a chunk of splintered wood, wondering idly if her self-defense classes would help her survive this one. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and prepared herself for the upcoming danger.

Wheatley cursed under his breath as the fifth key he tried wouldn't fit, quickly moving on to the next one in some sort of frenzy. The "key chain" was still hanging there- he couldn't quite make it out in the darkness, but its presence and shape felt familiar; comforting, almost.

"Do you think that scientist guy- I mean, Alex- made it out alright?"

"Uh. . .He has a bloody g-gun, doesn't he? Argh, I'm sure he's fine. Absolutely fine."

_No. No Alex isn't fine, you bloody moron. He won't ever __**be **__fine._

Of course, of course. . . How could he have forgotten?

* * *

_The window to Mitchelson's bedroom was open, that day._

_ It was sterile, completely empty- save for a bed and a desk full of books and post-it notes covered in random pretentious facts. He jumped right in- maybe he could mess with a few of Mitchelson's things- that'll show the snob! Probably. If there even was anything Wheatley could mess with, of course._

_A sudden crash coming from beyond that white door made him freeze, his spine tensing._

"_-'m s- p-p-!"_

_What was that?_

"_-'m s-!"_

_A door slamming- the surly shape of Mitchelson's father stormed out the front door, driving away angrily as soon as he got into his car- red and shiny- a snob's car._

_Wheatley felt a morbid curiosity bubble up inside him, like oil on a frying pan, and he tip-toed out of the door, and into the big fancy hallway. There was a door left open. He stepped inside, tentatively, discovering white tiles and a sink as sterile as Mitchelson's room._

_As he looked up, though, he saw red- lots of red, staining the white tiles and spreading slowly, sluggishly, like a puddle of mud or thick stew. _

_He panicked._

* * *

"Shit!" Chell cursed, snapping Wheatley out of his key jamming trance.

He stared, wide-eyed at the approaching horde of mantis men- bits of raw flesh hung from their appendages, green mixed in with beige and sickly red. Hurriedly, he picked out the last key from the huge jumble, shoving it into the doorknob and turning.

It clicked.

Wheatley bashed the door open- knocking it aside with a shoulder.

They ran, down into the darkness, mantis men nipping at their heels.

* * *

Shoot. Turn. Shoot. Turn.

The abominations closed around him- snarling, dribbling saliva. Another bullet, another corpse. Alex leaped on top of his table- almost tipping it over.

Shoot. Turn. Shoot. Turn.

A mantis man's head exploded- like a DUMMY Test Subject; gooey blood and rubbery limbs. Like a doll. Disposable.

Shoot. Turn. Shoot. Turn.

Red stained his coat. A bullet through a mantis man's torso- ripped it apart. The tendons stuck together, also like rubber.

Shoot. The end.

Out of bullets.

Another mantis man stretched his neck out, and bit. There was red on his arm, too.

He laughed, slowly, softly, cornered.

Then there was red everywhere.

* * *

"Quick! The vent's right there!"

Wheatley pushed past a pair of near-collapsing beams. "Come on!"

Chell struck the approaching creature with her make-shift bludgeoner once more, before dashing after him. More growls and snarling- _louder and louder and louder._

He pushed the button, a little harder than intended, and then used his hands to keep the vent open- he had stepped on the cube as it fell, to gain altitude. "Chell!"

The other janitor climbed up the cube. "Come on, Wheatley- get on my shoulders!"

She lifted him up as fast as she could, shoving him into the vent.

_The growling. Snarling. _

_Closer, closer, closer._

Wheatley grabbed her hands, trying to pull her up. _Closer, closer, closer._

He tugged harder, grunting with the effort.

_Growl. Snarl. Die. Die. Die._

Finally, they made it through.

"Let's go," said Chell, panting, as she nudged him forward towards the long climb ahead.

And they left the mantis men behind, scratching in frustration at the glass.

* * *

When Wheatley finally looked down, he felt a strange numbness well up inside him and flood his throat with repulsion gel, or something of the sort. His pendant- blue and as whale-like as ever, sitting there amongst Alex's keys. No wonder it had felt so _bloody_ familiar in his hand.

The crazy psychopath had given it back. He'd kept his promise. _He'd kept his promise._

Wheatley pressed on.

No. No turning back, not now.

He would have said it was a mere choice not to, but really- Carl Wheatley was just a scared, cowardly _moron_. And he knew it, too.


	12. Aftermath and Speculation

AN: I suppose the schedule is basically dead now, considering. . . I'm so sorry, but I've been down with the cold for the past couple of days and haven't been able to write properly at all. I'll try to update with a similar frequency, but not every week end. Sorry 'bout that As usual, critique is appreciated- feel free to tell me how I can improve, or if I made a canonical mistake somewhere. Bye for now, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

"So. . .um, Chell?"

"Y-Yeah, Sir Starchy?"

"I've been meaning to . . . _ask_ you something, since this morning, actually. . ." Wheatley fumbled with his pendant, twirling it through his fingers, as if such an action was comforting, when it did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. "What is it?"

"Err. . . What sort of chocolate do you like?"

_**"Eh?"**_ Chell was quite surprised by this question. In fact, she was so surprised that she dropped her bucket of mops and cleaning supplies on the corridor floor. They fell with a clatter that sounded like embarrassment, shock and heavy potatoes all at once. "W-Well, I do very much like milk chocolate," she said, after regaining her composure.

"Great! Uh, I mean. . . I . . . like milk chocolate too, heh heh."

Chell found herself moving just a tad closer to Sir Starchy, as he helped her pick up the cleaning supplies from the deceivingly pristine floor. She placed the last bottle of "DEETERGEHNT" into the dirty white bucket, deciding to ignore its random pulsing and glowing tendencies.

The past few hours had been . . . eventful, to say the least. The boss had called them into his authority-filled office, before giving them a very authority-filled talk. "None of this must leak out into the public, got it? If anything gets out . . . you two will be in _big, big trouble_," he said-solemn and threatening. "But so long as you keep it shush-shush and _do your job_, we will raise your salary and treat you as respected, elite janitors. You'll even get some extra cake, if you're good."

Chell supposed she wouldn't quit- she probably wouldn't even be able to, if she tried, judging by what the authority-filled boss had said. She did need the money, after all. . .

A part of her wanted to do something- tell the police, run away- anything! But something about Aperture compelled her to keep quiet- perhaps its unmistakably high contribution to science; she had always wanted to be a scientist, after all. Since her days of selling cabbages for spare cash at her grandmother's farm, her lifelong ambition was to work at a prestigious research center and be successful- just like her father, and her grandfather and her great grandfather.

Dad would be very much . . . proud, if she did.

Dad hadn't been proud of her in years.

(And perhaps, cleaning up some dead bodies would be worth it, for that.

She did have Sir Starchy as her assistant, after all, as moronic as he was.)

"Hey, Wheatley."

"Yeah, w-what is it?"

""I. . .I just wanted to say I'm glad ya' made it outta there in one piece."

The blue-eyed janitor's cheeks flushed, noticeably, and Chell snickered to herself.

"Yeah. . . I'm glad you're alright too," he said, face reddening even more. "Really glad. Like really, really, really glad. . .and, uh . ."

"Okay, okay, Sir Starchy- I get it," laughed Chell.

She leaned closer to her Wheatilicious friend, linking her arm and his together with much vigor, as the Sanitization Duo walked into the corridor- partners, always.

* * *

"Hey, Sasha!"

A tall, and "so-very-manly" young man swaggered into the Aperture Science Café, beholding all the grace of a duck with a missing limb. Or maybe two missing limbs- but the space enthusiast didn't care much for this. "Oh! Marvin! Welcome back to space!" she greeted him, with a smile that could lift the spirits of even the most depressed individuals.

She placed a hand on her hip, leaning sideways against the counter. "How's it going- my favourite coffee-making astronaut?"

"Great," he replied, with an attempted seductive smirk that came out looking more like a grimace. "How's life for you, milady?" he asked.

"Everything's just astrono-licious! _Only five_ customers vomited after sampling my muffins," she said cheerfully, casually dismissing the constant hazards that any Aperture product would cause. She turned to the sink and gave her hands a quick rinse, before drying them off on her yellow apron.

"Oh!" exclaimed the man, Marvin, after a few moments-like he had just remembered something. "Did ya' hear? A couple o' janitors and a scientist got themselves stuck in the no-go zone during the power outage," he said nonchalantly, plopping down on a chair.

"Really? I sure hope they're alright. . ." she trailed off, goofy tone no longer present. Sasha leaned down, quickly checking to see if there were any eavesdroppers around. "People say they run some strange out-of-this-universe experiments down there- but I'm sure none of them are 'bout space," she shuddered slightly, imagining every single possibility.

"Maybe they're raising an army of mantis-men hybrids down there to conquer an alien planet! Oh my space! What if they escape and try to kill us all?" Sasha rammed her fist into the table in her excitement, nearly-but not quite- tipping over a few jars of spices.

"Hah!" laughed Marvin. "Don't worry, lady- I'd shoot 'em all down with my trusty rifle 'fore they get to ya'! You can count on that," he blinked his left eye in an attempt at a charming wink.

"Well, I'm sure _I_ could zap them all by myself with a laser ray before they could even get out of their dingy little test chamber!" boasted Sasha, aiming her finger at an imaginary mantis man.

"Bet I could shoot more than ya'!"

Marvin jumped up, putting his fingers together in the impression of a larger gun.

"Not a chance!"

Little did Sasha the waitress know that her casual speculation was not_ quite_ as far-fetched as it seemed.


	13. The Starchy Surprise

AN: I have returned, my readers! After several weeks of complete and utter silence, I have returned.

. . .

Nice to be back?

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep.

There was that sound again.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Red, everywhere. Mantis men-ripping through everything in sight.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A bright light that seared through his retina. A hospital bed.

There he was again- history just loved repeating itself, didn't it?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

". . . cannot afford any more accidents. . ." A voice.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

". . . government's got their eye on us, sir. . ."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

". . .not givin' up Science for. . .stupid government. . .research. . .for Science"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

". . .for humanity, sir. . .?"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Who? Why?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He was a scientist. The world shouldn't be so confusing to him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

* * *

The Aperture Science Café was bustling with little-to-no-activity, as it often was at these hours of five o' clock in the evening. Sasha frowned slightly, at the peeling and chipped strips of dried paint that clung desperately to the walls. She'd have to get that fixed, soon- it most certainly did not provide a good atmosphere for her astronauts! Perhaps she'd paint some rocket ships on, the next time- the hearts were getting kind of cheesy, after all.

Marvin was cleaning out the coffee machine- carefully, for once, to avoid plunging the entire facility into yet another coffee-filled disaster. Sasha sighed, as she watched bits of "DEESH WASHING DEETHERGHENT" drip from the rag he was holding. He really was too clumsy and messy for his own good- such a trait got him in the Café Manager's office rather frequently.

She mopped the counter vigorously, for possibly the eighteenth time that day, despite there being few customers to actually get the thing dirty. Sasha had been trying to improve her cooking- she really had, but it seemed her efforts were always in vain. The dreams of becoming a famous chef were always vanquished after a customer made a dash for the washroom. It was rather depressing, really- but Sasha was not one to give in to failure.

"Um. . .Hello? Anyone in there?"

A familiar voice came from the other side of the café' door.

Sasha considered herself to be very good at remembering her customers, but the owner of this particular voice seemed obscure to her-out of reach and distant. Nevertheless, she opened the door. "Welcome, astronaut! How's it going?" she greeted the blue eyed man before her cheerily.

"Hello! It's me- Wheatley! Uh. . ." he trailed off, twiddling his thumbs. At last, Sasha managed to place where exactly she had heard that voice before. "I just wanted to know if you have any suggestions for. . .whattodoonadate. . ." the last few words were spoken under his breath- gushed out in a stream of barely coherent mutterings.

A date? Sasha was perplexed, for a brief moment. Oh, of course! It was the customer who was dating that fabulous lady in orange.

"Well, astronaut." Sasha cleared her throat, mimicking the authority-filled boss of the Building Management Department.

"You can start off with some roses. . ."

* * *

"Ow! You stepped on my foot again."

"Sorry!"

"Where are we going anyways, Sir Starchy? This is a very much long amount of time to keep someone blindfolded. . ."

"Uh. . .Somewhere. It's . . .a special surprise! For you. Because I. . .I. . uh. . ."

". . .You what?"

"Never mind! We're here!"

The door swung open and smashed against the wall with a bang. . .and then proceeded to swing back a smack a certain blue-eyed janitor right in the face. "Argh!" he yelled, falling to the ground. "Ugh. . .Totally. . .meant. . .to do that," he muttered. ". . .Bloody door. . .Argh. . ."

"Are ya' _still alive_, Sir Starchy?" asked Chell, putting a hand on her hip. "Also, can I take off the blindfold yet? It _is _getting rather itchy."

"Yeah!" said Wheatley. "Sure! Let me just. . .uh. . .set a few things right, ifyoudon'tmind," he garbled hurriedly, leaping off the floor and dusting himself off.

He dashed into the room like a cheetah on some kind of steroids- balloons were checked for potential popping, cutlery was rearranged several times in the span of seconds, clothes were thrown off and on and a rather miserable bouquet of three roses was picked off of the table.

"And. . .done! You can take off the blindfold now!"

Chell opened her eyes to her Wheatilicious friend, clad in a baby blue bunny suit with a red plastic nose to match, holding out three roses wrapped in some Aperture-issued wrapping paper that was completely covered with childish doodles of cake.

She did the only thing possible for any human being in the _world_ placed in this situation.

She laughed.


End file.
